


Fortune Telling

by Kimium



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Ambiguously placed timeline, Gen, Hints and references to different soulmate AUs, Laslow/Xander (hinted), Leo/Odin/Niles (hinted), Minor mention of Selena's thoughts on Cordelia, Oneshot, Selena/Camilla (hinted), Switching POV between the Awakening Trio, Xanlow (hinted), introspective thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 17:50:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21194024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimium/pseuds/Kimium
Summary: One shot.“Legends say,” Olivia had said one morning as she had gently touched Laslow’s hand, “that the pinkie finger has a guide to all those important in our lives. A string of fate, so to speak.”Fate. Laslow traced around the base of his left pinkie, imagining the string. What colour would it be? Red? Or maybe white? Maybe it depended on who it was connected to? In that case maybe pink for his mother? Yellow for Odin? Red for Selena? Maybe even a dark purple for Xander…"An introspective fic in the Trio's POV with the theme of different soulmate AUs woven in their thoughts. OR: The Trio are really in love with their respective Lords but may be too dense to full on say it.





	Fortune Telling

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!!!
> 
> I took a very different approach with this fic, deciding to comment on different soulmate AUs without having an actual soulmate AU written in this fic. This fic is short, but I really enjoyed writing it. I had a lot of fun coming up with different soulmate AUs for the Trio to comment on. More about the AUs they're commenting on in the bottom notes. Shipping stuff is hinted but it's my normal pairings (and in the tags). I hope you all enjoy this fic.
> 
> As always please feel free to leave kudos/comments. Those always motivate me and make my day! Also if you want to check out my tumblr, feel free to do so right [here](http://www.kimium.tumblr.com).

Rain dripped down the window pane, steady, smooth, and soft. Gray clouds had lined the sky when Laslow woke up and now they were a heavy dark gray that loomed over the land, casting shadows, not allowing any sunlight through. The smell of wet grass, crisp air, and water tickled Laslow’s throat with a weightless flavour that spread like wildfire through his being. Closing his eyes, Laslow’s head hit the pane of glass, a dull thunk echoing in the room, and closed his eyes. Cold spread from his forehead, into his slightly heated skin, sending a shiver down his spine. Beside him the fire crackled, the subtle smell of smoke and burning pine reminding him that he didn’t have to sit by the window, that he could be warm, curled up in a chair with a blanket.

Perhaps he could convince one of the maids to bring him up a pot of tea. Laslow exhaled. Maybe later, once he finished his work. Opening his eyes, Laslow stared at the pile of scrolls on his lap, all tightly rolled and sealed. Picking one up, Laslow stared at it. Crème coloured parchment and smooth mahogany wood met his eyes. The fibres of the parchment were slightly rough against his fingers. Perhaps the ink would be rough against the grain of the parchment. Laslow’s fingers tightened and he turned the scroll around to stare at the wax seal. The wax was red, uneven around the edges, but the seal pressed in was the common Nohrian seal, the one used for reports, unlike the royal seal with a coat of arms and fancy words scrawled on the bottom.

Laslow dropped the scroll on his lap and twisted his hands. His nails were getting long and there were still some slight nicks and blisters on some fingers. Flexing his fingers, Laslow tried to imagine holding a quill, writing out suggestions on the reports or summing their contents up for Xander. His hand ached and the blisters protested, his mind already conjuring up the weight of the quill, the way it would press into his hand. Laslow laughed to himself and unflexed his hand. If he played his cards right maybe he could get out of reports for the day and not cause Xander to sigh at him in exasperation.

Xander. Immediately Laslow’s brain filled with images of his lord: how he smiled, how he moved, how he talked, and how he worked. Grace, power, strength, compassion: those all flowed through Xander, always ready to burst at the seams. People gravitated towards Xander, eager for his attention, his consultation, his support… Laslow swallowed and lifted his left hand, his dominant hand. Twisting his hand around, Laslow stared at his palm, remembering some of his mother’s teachings. Fortune telling in Ylisse wasn’t like the fortune telling in Hoshido or Nohr. Hoshido used tea leaves, smoke, water, and mirrors. Nohr used cards, stars, and crystals. Ylisse used palms, or maybe Regna Ferox did. Laslow wasn’t sure. Gently he ran his right finger down, tracing all the lines.

_“This is the life line, the sun line, the fate line, the heart line…”_ Olivia’s words ran through Laslow’s head, his right finger stopping abruptly by his pinkie finger. He swallowed and stared.

_“Legends say,”_ Olivia had said one morning as she had gently touched Laslow’s hand, _“that the pinkie finger has a guide to all those important in our lives. A string of fate, so to speak.”_

Fate. Laslow traced around the base of his left pinkie, imagining the string. What colour would it be? Red? Or maybe white? Maybe it depended on who it was connected to? In that case maybe pink for his mother? Yellow for Odin? Red for Selena? Maybe even a dark purple for Xander…

Laslow dropped his finger swiftly, almost as though it had burned him. His left palm stared at him, the lines standing out on his skin, almost as though Laslow had taken ink and outlined them. His pinkie finger standing out too, Laslow’s brain conjuring up the image of thread woven around his finger, like a ring. With a shaky motion, Laslow closed his palm, his finger nails biting into his skin. Shivering, Laslow closed his eyes, but the still saw the lines, still saw the thread. The image burned into his brain, his mind swirling with the thought of mysteries that fortune telling claimed could reveal. His hand tightened, his nails digging in further. Laslow only stopped when the smell of copper and iron hit his nose. Exhaling sharply, Laslow looked down at his palm, the crescent moons swelling red with blood. Tilting his hand, Laslow watched the blood smear and spread, coating over the lines of his palm. He watched until the blood was cool and tacky and the image of the lines had faded away from his mind.

~

Camilla flying against the sky was nothing like her mother.

Selena paused her practice sword heavy in her overheated hands. Her arms burned with the force of her training efforts. Sweat dripped down slowly in all places, but especially her hands. The moisture making Selena’s grip under her gloves, sticky, leather clinging to the skin at all the wrong angles. Letting go of the practice sword, Selena flexed her hands, allowing a bit of air to slip under the leather, cooling her skin. Grimacing, Selena then moved to undo the gloves, allowing her hands to breathe, all while keeping her gaze fixed upwards.

The day was beautiful, the sky blue, not a single cloud in sight. All sorts of people were out training, taking advantage of the day, but especially the fliers. Selena carefully kept her gaze on Camilla, staring at the image her lady made. Camilla’s wyvern wasn’t entirely black, but gradients of blacks, cool greys, and dark midnight blues, all blending together and swirling in sharp, gleaming tones under the sun’s warm beams of light. Camilla herself was wearing her practice armour, all black with some dark brown leather, barely a hint of skin showing, except her face, freed of a helmet. Her lavender hair was pulled into a low ponytail, a bit messy from her practicing. In the light the darks and lights of purple refracted like a shattered purple glass.

Purple. That was the colour of Camilla. Not the deep, dark purple of the Nohrian Royal Family, but the soft lavenders and lilacs. The ones that spoke of spring and warmth. Selena could stare at the colour all day, could wrap herself around the colour, soak up the life and joy spring (and Camilla) brought her.

Except Selena was red, just like Cordelia, or as people always pointed out. Selena had Cordelia’s eyes and according to many people, Selena’s brow knit the same way Cordelia’s did when in concentration. Selena had the same fair complexion as Cordelia and her hands with the same long, delicate fingers. When Selena’s hair grew out and as she grew up the comparisons only continued. Even when Selena refused to take to the skies and refused to take up a lance.

Cordelia followed Selena everywhere: both in spirit, in her heart, and in her appearance. Selena wordlessly ran her fingers through her hair, the vibrant red strands catching in her hands. Red was Selena’s colour, vibrant, rich, and brilliant against the warm blue sky. Red was the colour Selena had seen since she could remember, sometimes the only colour strong and vibrant enough to register in Selena’s mind.

But now, here in Nohr, under the warm sun and bright blue sky, Selena only saw purple, lavender and lilac, Camilla’s purples. Perhaps, if Camilla’s purples were the only colours Selena could see for the remainder of her life, she wouldn’t entirely mourn the loss of red.

Maybe.

Selena snorted and turned her gaze away from Camilla.

~

Odin double checked his hand, staring at the smudged, slightly faded text scrawled across the skin. Under the warm day the sweat from naturally walking around, being physically active gleamed on the black text. Frowning, Odin adjusted his grip on the already bought bags, and resisted the urge to rub the sweat off. If he did that, he’d smudge the words further and then how could Odin finish his errands? So, Odin angled his hand, making sure the light caught at the right angle, the words standing out on his hand properly, double checked his next item on the list, and headed down the street. His hand fell naturally to his side, the words no doubt smudging more as his hand brushed against his clothing. Odin internally winced, but he continued his journey, hanging a sharp left before beelining across the street to the next shop, the tailor’s. Balancing the other bags again, Odin pried the door open, the bell at the top ringing jovially as Odin stepped inside.

Behind the counter was a young man, no older than twelve, his hand against his chin. His eyes were closed and his body was swaying precariously on the stool. When the bell rang in the shop, his eyes opened dazed, before snapping to attention, a yawn eaten up by his startled gasp. Scrambling, the boy straightened his back and swallowed, flashing a crooked smile that was more of a grimace.

“Greetings!” Odin lifted his free hand. “I’ve arrived to your humble shop in order to procure a pick up for my most esteemed Lord Leo.” Odin left out the _“dark, mysterious, and all powerful”_ part out. Last time he did that Leo heard and scolded Odin (for some unknown reason).

“Ah… yes, of course.” The boy scrambled, his hands going to behind the counter, grabbing the clothing (folded, pressed neatly, and wrapped) before pulling at the drawers, papers flying as he did so. “Though this isn’t my shop.” He breathlessly added, almost an afterthought. “Just my grandfather’s.”

Odin titled his head, not wanting to correct the boy about the lack of times he had stepped into the shop. Chores and duties were usually split evenly and rotated between him and Niles, except for clothing pick up. Somehow that was more of Niles’s job. (Not that Odin would ever ask why, though he had his suspicions. Niles, overall, had a better eye and idea about Nohrian styles. Odin, at the beginning, wasn’t going to notice if something was wrong design wise until he was back at the castle.)

“What a grand task bestowed upon your young mortal form!” Odin said instead, flashing his best smile and waving his hand.

The boy blinked before he flushed and slammed some paper onto the counter. “If you could...”

“You wish for my signature?” Odin bounced over to the counter and grabbed the quill, deftly sinking the tip into the black ink.

“I…” The boy trailed off. “What’s on your hand?”

“Huh?” Odin had already pressed the tip of the quill onto the paper, his hand automatically flowing, writing a cursive, loopy signature that according to Selena “was completely illegible and Aunt Maribelle would cry her eyes out if she could witness your writing”. “Oh, my list?” Odin lifted his hand.

“List?” The boy asked, “Don’t you… have paper?”

Odin blinked, his mind flashing to the timeline, the broken one, where paper and resources were scarce. His mind flashed to the notes, messages that Odin had to pass on, to memorise, before being washed away. A sharp memory of an icy stream outside Regna Ferox filled Odin’s mind which quickly morphed into another memory, of the dirt and blood of battle smeared and obstructed the notes, before draining away into the past.

Odin smiled. “Paper is merely a cage and medium to trap words meant to be savoured and remembered across space and time. Lists and errands are merely fleeting messages for the present moment, burning as hot as a flare before dying with an absentminded gurgle of energy.”

The boy stared and Odin’s mind suddenly slammed him harshly, reminding Odin he was in a shop meant to pick something up for Lord Leo. As Lord Leo’s representative. The words from earlier slowly sunk into Odin’s skin, heavy and oppressive, like sandbags. Opening his mouth, Odin meant to ask for the articles of clothing. He’d then leave the store and hope the boy wasn’t a gossip and that Odin didn’t have any rumours come back and bite him in the ass. Except the boy beat him to the punch.

“Even tattoos?”

Odin’s mouth clicked shut and it took his brain a moment to process the boy’s words. Tattooing, ink pressed into skin with needles. Uncle Basilio had an impressive one on his back as the Western Khan, dark inks swirled with the traditional Western Khan colours of burnt oranges and dark navies. Aunt Flavia also had one, hers swirling along her shoulder blades and a little down her arms, hers the traditional Eastern Khan colours of dark greens and red moon berry crimson. Another memory flashed in Odin’s mind, him young, sitting on Uncle Basilio’s lap, his eyes wide as he took in Aunt Flavia’s tattoos, his questions, and their answers.

“Tattoos,” Odin breathed, speaking from memory, “are sacred, meant to not just tell a story but detail an important aspect of life that expands outward beyond your mortal coil.”

“Oh.” The boy shuffled, “guess those fairy tales about lover’s names etched on our skin are just tales.” He then flushed. “My sister.” He added as an explanation.

Love. Odin stared at his hand, turning his wrist slightly, seeing more of his smudged words on the inner part. Love was an abstract concept and an idea that still eluded full comprehension. Sure, figuratively love could be etched on the skin, but that was only through memory. To suggest that lover’s names could physically show up on the skin was foolish, childish, clearly only meant to be confined to fairy tales, and a foolish romantic idea. Yet, slowly Odin’s mind conjured the image of his arm, clean of his usual writing, and replaced with the names of those he loved.

Was currently in love with. He swallowed heavily.

“Sorry.” The boy shuffled. “I just enjoy reading those tales with her.” He then all but shoved a copy of the papers Odin had signed towards Odin, along with gently pushing the parcel of clothing. “Here is the parcel you want. Thank you for your business.”

“My most sincere thanks.” Odin automatically said, his hand reaching out and grabbing the parcel tucking it under his arm.

He then left the appropriate amount of money and left the shop, his mind still swirling around the image of his wrist and the names etched onto the skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Fortune Telling methods: I listed some common ones utilized in the world, trying to keep list ones I feel would be used more in Nohr vs. Hoshido.
> 
> Palm Reading: I listed some actual named lines in palm reading. Or at least according to Google and my image search.
> 
> Red String of Fate: Referencing the proverb about how we have a string of fate attached to our pinkie fingers. Many soulmate AUs use this idea to have a person's string attached to their soulmate. I then took the idea further to the idea people could have multiple strings and those could be to more than just a soulmate, but to also people who are important in their lives.
> 
> Seeing purple/red: I'm referencing the soulmate AU where you only see one colour until you meet your soulmate. I'm also referencing the soulmate AU where you only see one colour and it's a colour somehow related to your soulmate. 
> 
> Selena's thoughts on her mother: I believe by the time Fates rolls around Selena has dealt with and come to terms with many of her childhood hang ups over her mother, but I do also believe she still has some.
> 
> Uncle Basilio/Aunt Flavia: Odin (and the rest of the Awakening kids) considering Basilio and Flavia as honourary uncle/aunt is a headcanon that won't be pried away from me. I love it so much. Too much.
> 
> Basilio/Flavia having tattoos: A little headcanon of mine. I love the idea that they have a tattoo based on their station as Western/Eastern Khan respectfully. I also made up the colour thing for West/East. 
> 
> Names on skin: Referencing the soulmate AU where your soulmate(s)' names are on your skin.


End file.
